The Devil (18 page)

face, something had changed. He was remembering some-

thing he had hidden and wished it had stayed thus.

My dripping clothes had formed a pool of water at our

feet. He stood and said,

' Y o u poor man, you're drenched and perished. Come on,

I'll get you a towel in the Sacristy.'

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THE DEVIL

The inner sanctum.

D a n B r o w n , eat yer heart out.

C o u l d be, he intended calling the Guards.

I followed him along the altar, genuflected when he did

before the H o l y Sacrament and remembered a lovely line,

'Walk gently as you walk on H o l y ground.'

He opened a heavy oak door, ushered me i n .

Took a set of keys from his cassock, bent d o w n , fiddled

with a lock and then produced not only a fine thick towel

but, get this,

a bottle of Bushmills -

and not just any old Bush,

Black Bushmills,

the holy grail of Irish whiskey -

two heavy glass tumblers, made of Galway crystal and, I

shit thee not, with angels on the sides.

I dried me hair as he poured healthy measures into the

glasses, handed me one, said,
Ts feidir Horn:

M a d e me smile. What Barack said to our prime minister

on St Paddy's Day.

'I am able.'

W o u l d that we were.

My k i n d of priest. I said,

'Bheannacht leat fein:
(Blessing on yerself.) Added ,

' N o offence, but you're not the usual . . . how should I

term it . . . clergy I'm used to.'

I put out my hand, said,

'Jack Taylor.'

He had a firm grip in more ways than one, said,

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J

KEN BRUEN

'Father Raphael - after the Archangel of Healing - but

most people call me R a l p h . '

Pity it wasn't M i c h a e l , w h o smote the demon, but you

take what you get, like Bushmills.

Then a light went off in his eyes and he asked,

'Jack Taylor, w h o saved the swans?'

Saved
is overstating it.

Through luck really, and a lot of sitting under Nemo's pier

on miserable nights, I caught a psycho w h o was killing those

beautiful creatures.

I, shall we say, smote h i m .

Last I heard, the said nutter was a doctor.

Go figure.

R a l p h and I drank in what might have passed as comfort-

able silence.

Give me Black Bushmills, I'm comfortable.

He was taking my measure. G o o d luck with that. L o n g as

he wasn't measuring out the Bushmills in the same way.

I could wait.

Then,

'I spent a lot of time in A f r i c a , Jack, back in the days

when priests were welcome. I saw a lot of things that don't

have what you'd call a rational explanation.'

The recollection was hurting h i m , but he had a glass of

the best, so he continued,

'I was d o w n in the townships, in Jo'burg, and . . .'

He stopped. Poured us damn nigh lethal measures, then

went on.

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THE DEVIL

'There was a rash of kilHngs there. N o w bear in m i n d that

kilhngs and violence were, G o d forgive me, commonplace,

but these were different. Young men and women were being

killed, gutted and . . .'

He took a large sip, very large.

M e too.

'Headless dogs were sometimes found in the bellies of the

deceased.'

N o w it was like every breath of air had been sucked from

the r o o m .

A n d that to happen on H o l y ground.'

He took a deep breath, said,

'Jack, the natives - decent, lovely people - told me that

the young people, the ones w h o . . . the ones w h o were

butchered had been spending time w i t h a man they referred

to as Monsieur K . '

I had . . . nothing.

As Mr K might have put it,

'Rien:

Save a w a r m glow from the fine booze. But I asked,

'What happened.''

He gave a resigned sigh, said,

'Monsieur K disappeared. The killings stopped and I

prayed to G o d I'd never hear of h i m again.'

He was a priest - from what I could tell, an intelligent,

level-headed, compassionate man. In my experience, such a

person got fucked, one way or another.

Y o u want to prosper?

Treat the w o r l d like the shite it is, then maybe, one day, if

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KEN BRUEN

you meet a decent person, fuck him first.

But here was a man grounded in faith, taught Theology

for what, seven years? A n d what do I know, maybe even

Metaphysics. He knew stuff, had been freaking educated in

it, so I asked,

'What do you think now. Father . . . I mean, R a l p h .

T h i s is w a y beyond coincidence, not to mention

serendipity.'

He nodded, said,

'Tis sad, tis true, that's the H o l y all of it.'

He was fucking kidding.

That air of resignation.

Where was the fight?

I mean, if the clergy hadn't an answer to evil, what the

hell was a poor bastard like me meant to do?

Pray?

Do the Lotto?

I wanted to shake h i m , demand a solution. He was a

priest, our moral guardian, and if he gave i n , what hope did

the rest of us poor schmucks have?

But he was so visibly shaken, I eased on me ferocity, took

the bottle, gave him a blast.

He didn't even seem to notice.

The Sacristy had a beautiful stained-glass w i n d o w and

n o w a beam of light shone through.

Y o u read a significance there?

Just Irish weather.

I said,

'The rain has stopped, I should go.'

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THE DEVIL

I put the towel on the back of the chair, put out my hand,

said,

'Thanks, R a l p h , you've restored a lot of me faith in the

C h u r c h . '

He walked me out, not saying a w o r d . Outside, the sun

having reappeared, the Claddagh Basin never looked so

lovely.

For form's sake more than anything else, I asked,

' A n y suggestions?'

I k n o w defeat and despair, and it was mirrored here, and

what had he got but cliche?

He took it.

I don't blame h i m .

He said,

' A s k G o d to rid us of this pestilence.'

I liked h i m , you've gathered that, but Jesus, I couldn't let

it go. I couldn't. Asked,

' A n d if G o d lets more young people get killed?'

He reached in his cassock, pulled out his rosary beads like

a coke head in need of the connection, muttered,

'Jack, we have to believe. Faith is what sustains us.'

Sounded just like the government.

I said,

'I have other options.'

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21

'Always trust what your heart knows.'

Hafiz

Father R a l p h was seriously disturbed by the encounter w i t h

Jack Taylor. A n d he felt that he had failed him. Fie went

back into the church to say a decade of the rosary for the

poor man.

He was startled to see a man in the front row.

A man w i t h long golden tresses.

For a brief moment, he thought he'd imbibed too much of

the Bushmills. It almost looked like Jesus!

M u c h as he'd always wished for divine intervention, he

hadn't necessarily wanted it so directly.

Without turning, the man said in some kind of foreign-

accented English,

'Rest easy, priest, I'm not the pale Nazarene.'

The urge to flee was paramount, but he drew on his w i l l

and the Bushmills. By G o d , he w o u l d not be intimidated in

his o w n church.

The man had his feet up on the connecting pew, totally at

his ease. He said,

'Take a load off, RalpKy, come join me.'

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KEN BRUEN

R a l p h approached slowly and the man turned to look at

him.

Yellow eyes.

It wasn't possible.

The man patted the seat, said,

'I'm not going to bite you . . . yet.'

R a l p h stood in front of h i m , and had to admire the sheer

quality of the suit.

The man said,

' A l l o w me to introduce myself.'

and laughed, said,

' L i k e the Stones song.'

R a l p h felt a cold breeze rush d o w n the aisle and nearly

knock h i m over. He steadied himself, asked,

'Is there something I can help you with?'

The man ran his fingers through his hair, almost a

sensuous gesture, said,

' Y o u thought I couldn't enter a church.'

Then reached in his immaculate suit, took out a pack of

cigarettes, lit one w i t h a slim gold lighter, frowned and

asked,

'Is it OK to smoke in the house of the dead Jew?'

Before R a l p h could answer, the man blew a perfect ring

towards h i m and said,

'I feel you were of little solace to our mutual friend.'

R a l p h was more terrified than he'd ever been in his whole

life. N o t even the bad days of the township had affected h i m

like this.

The m a n said,

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THE DEVIL

' A h , the township, now wasn't that a happening burg?'

Then asked,

'Cat got your tongue, priest?'

R a l p h finally managed to say,

'I'm going to call the Guards.'

The man stood up, flicked his cigarette at Ralph's cassock,

said,

'I think it's about five yards to the Sacristy, sure you want

to risk it?'

H e didn't.

R a l p h , despite himself, sank d o w n into the seat. The man

smiled and said,

'Let me tell you a story. A parable, I think you guys call

them?'

R a l p h nodded, muttered,

'Parables, yes, that's right.'

The man reached over, touched R a l p h on the face, the

touch hke the hand of the cemetery, said,

'See, we're bonding, already we've got us a dialogue

going.'

He gave a smile, like the worst k i n d of madness, said,

'Thing is, priest, I have a special thing for our Mr Taylor. He

has, mainly through bumbling, upset some playtime I had.'

R a l p h wanted to move, to run, but he felt paralysed. The

man said,

' A n d y o u , priest, filling his head w i t h nonsense, w i t h half-

heard stories, n o w he is going to be even more of an irritant

than I'd anticipated.'

He moved closer to R a l p h , said,

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KEN BRUEN

'But all this seems very heavy, am I right?'

R a l p h tried to smile and hoped maybe the lunatic was

going to leave, but the man said,

'I get a very bad press, and really, I'm a fun guy. Y o u like

tricks, Ralphy?'

Ralph managed to utter a yes. He knew if you could keep

a psycho on your side, you had a shot.

The man said,

'Wonderful, I do love a player. Watch this.'

A n d clicked his fingers.

A noose appeared above the statue of Saint Jude. Last

resort of hopeless cases.

'Just for the hell of it, you're going to hop on up there, put

that around your ecclesiastical neck and swing as if you

meant it.'

Ralph felt his limbs move and he was walking towards

St Jude. The man said,

'Swing for the sinner, daddy-o.'

Outside, the man stood for a moment, re-living h o w Taylor

had fucked up his little diversion of the boy w h o ' d been

beheading swans.

An elderly w o m a n approached, looked towards the

church and asked,

' W o u l d you k n o w if Father Ralph is in residence?'

He gave her his most charming smile, said,

'He's a little tied up right now.'

She l o o k e d crestfallen and he asked, his accent

deliberately more foreign.

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THE DEVIL

' Y o u are Catholic, no?'

She was indignant, said,

'Born and bred, and proud of it.'

O o z i n g charm, he asked,

'I'm a stranger to your country and, forgive me, to your

religion.'

She was thinking,
Protestant, they can't even speak

right.
But she was prepared to be C h r i s t i a n . She

said,

'Tis not your fault.'

He had to force himself not to laugh, said,

' Y o u might be able to help with me with a question about

your faith.'

She was delighted. Jesus and H i s H o l y Mother, she might

make a convert. She said,

'Ask away.'

'They say - please forgive my English, but suicide is the

one unforgivable sin in your belief?'

She nodded furiously, said,

' O h that's the big one, no coming back from that one,

damned for all eternity.'

He moved right up to her, and she thought his breath

smelled funny, like wilted flowers. He said,

'Then if you w i l l pardon my French, your Father R a l p h is

fucked.'

On St Patrick's Day, a young student named, yes, Sarah, was

found murdered in Eyre Square.

Didn't stop the parade, biit O K , did delay it a little.

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KEN BRUEN

The head of a dog was found resting - gently, they tell me

- on her gutted stomach.

That's when I finally decided to k i l l Carl/Kurt.

I was in my apartment when I heard the news. G o t the call